Glimpses
by Trillian Astra
Summary: A series of oneshots originally written for prompts on LiveJournal. Any characters, any setting. MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR ANY EPISODES, INCLUDING EPITAPH ONE. Reviews are appreciated.
1. New Direction

**Author's Note: **OK... I've been writing a lot of prompts at the LJ Community comment_fic, which have mostly turned out pretty well, so I've decided to post them here. I'll group them by fandom, because most of them are pretty short.

Prompt was: author's choice/author's choice, "Something of the host survives" (Stargate-SG1)

Topher crumpled the empty juice carton into a ball with one hand and tossed it into the waste-paper basket. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the pages of scribbled notes scattered over his desk, and sighed. He was no closer to understanding how Actives could retain memories from removed imprints, and he needed to understand. The future of the whole Dollhouse depended on him understanding.

Ivy appeared in the lab at one point, asking if he needed anything. He sent her out for morer juice and told her not to disturb him. She glowered at him but left, resignedly. He didn't notice anyone else until he heard the _click-click-click _of heels on the floor outside, which meant that Ms DeWitt had come to check up on him. He spun around in his chair and sure enough, there she was in the doorway.

"Topher, tell me you have some good news for me? Something that might help?"

He gestured helplessly at the pages behind him. "I've been working all week on this. I know there has to be something, I just… haven't thought of it yet."

DeWitt looked at him for a long moment. "I'll take a look. Maybe fresh eyes will spot something."

Topher doubted that she'd find anything, but shrugged. "You're the boss." He scooted his chair away from the desk, allowing her close enough to read his notes. After a few minutes she looks up. "Your handwriting is appalling… I can hardly read some of this stuff."

"Sorry."

She read the rest of his notes quickly, then turned and leant against the desk. "I think you're looking in the wrong direction…"  
"Uh, I'm the guy who does this stuff, remember? The expert? I think I know where to look…"

The look she gave him is frosty, bordering on glacial. "I know your CV, Topher. Your notes… you're staying too close to what you know already." She paused, thinking about something. "Try looking in a completely new direction."

DeWitt straightened up and walked to the doorway. Before leaving, she turned back and added, "Instead of wiping the actives' memories completely… see if you can find a way to use some of their existing memories as a… foundation, of sorts." Then she turned and walked out. Topher reached for a pen and a fresh notebook and was immediately scribbling down notes.

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ChibiTopher likes reviews. That's all I'm saying...


	2. Glitch

**A/N: **Yikes, oneshot #2. Bit dark this time…

Prompt is: Whisky/Alpha(glitching as Bobby), broken bits of flesh and soul

**Spoilers for "Epitaph One"**

It's been very quiet recently. Whiskey hasn't seen any of the others for a long time, and she hasn't swum or painted or had a treatment for even longer.

These days she just walks, or stands looking at things, or sleeps.

She sleeps a lot, these days.

She's walking around the room that used to be where they exercised, drifting along slowly, when she glimpses something in the shadows, and hears a voice."

"Hello, Whiskey."

She freezes on the spot, eyes wide, knowing instantly who it is. The one… the one who… slowly she reaches up and touches her face, tracing the lines of scars that are no longer visible.

"Hey, ain't you gonna say hello? An' here I am bein' all polite to ya… c'mon, Crystal, play along…"

The voice sounds different, but the same. He called her Crystal.

"My name is Whiskey."

"Huh? iNo/i, you're Crys- oh, yes, I know who you are." The voice changes again, sounds like the one who… the one whose name she can't think.

"C-come out of the shadows…"

"As you wish," his words mock her, as he steps from the shadows and smiles insincerely.

"Everyone left. They went… away."

" 'Course they did, babe… hey, at least we can be together now, right? You an' me against the world, just like we said…" He sounds different again. Whiskey frowns.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm not," He shrugs nonchalantly, "You're all broken up into pieces. You've gone mad. If you weren't, I wouldn't be here now." He pauses thoughtfully. "Or maybe I would, but you wouldn't be able to see me… either way, you're mad. Get used to it, darlin'."

"What is mad?"

"Crazy? Not all there? Loopy?" He studies her face, shakes his head. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand anyway. You're broken. Might not look like it, since they fixed your face… but you're broken, all right. Broken into tiny li'l pieces."

"I'm broken," she pauses, looks at him wide-eyed, and adds "How can I be my best if I'm broken?"

He grins at her, and says gleefully, "You can't." Then he turns and walks away, disappearing back into shadow.

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Reviews are love...


	3. The Lay of the Last Survivor

**A/N: **Dark one again. I'm sorry, fluffy Dollhouse fic just doesn't come naturally to me!

**Spoilers for** **"Epitaph One"**

Prompt is: Ballard/anyone, Beowulf

He thinks he's the last one, the only person from the LA Dollhouse left alive. Some, like most of the former Actives, he saw die himself. Others – Langton, DeWitt, Topher, Dominic – have disappeared, leaving only rumour and myth. There are a few he barely allows himself to think about – Mellie, Whiskey. Echo.

(He still thinks of her as Echo, even after all this time.)

Every day now is a fight to survive. He frequently finds small pockets of survivors, and when they realise who he is it's always the same story. They hand him food, hoarded alcohol, whatever meagre treasures they have. They call him a hero, they all know the story of the man who closed down the dollhouses.

He never takes anything that they give him, never accepts a thing. He knows that all he did was turn over the first stone, uncovering what was underneath. The real bad guys, the ones responsible for what the world has become, are still out there.

One night, he camps in someone's abandoned summer home, not far from LA. In the overgrown garden he builds a small fire, and empties out the collection of things that he's been carrying around recently – the first photo of Caroline that he saw, the badge that once proved his identity as an FBI agent, an old Rubik's cube (he remembers, after a moment, that it was once Topher's), a white handkerchief wrapped around a handful of dried-up flowers, an orange plastic jar that once held pills… he spreads them out on the ground, looking carefully at each in turn.

He digs a small hole, and carefully places each item inside, then buries them. It's inadequate, he knows, but he also knows that he can't carry these reminders of long-dead, long-gone people around for much longer. So instead he buries the only things he has left of them, and marks the place with a small cairn.

He sits there, alone, until the sun starts to come up, and then he sets off, heading for LA. On the way, he meets three people on the road – a man, a woman, and a little girl who runs up to him, throwing her arms around him. Once everything is explained (the girl, he finds out, is imprinted with Caroline's personality), he tells them his plan. The three look at each other, and say that they'll go with him.

Walking down the long road to LA, it's Caroline who sums up what they're going to do best. "We're going to kill the dragon," she says in her little-girl voice, and Paul can't help but think she has it right.

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ChibiPaul is emo... reviews might make him feel better...


	4. The Measure of a Man

Prompt is: Topher, measure of a man, three sentences only.

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He laughs, and jokes, and tries never to be serious, because to be serious is to be like his father wanted him to be.

He remembers words heard long ago - _be a man, Christopher, real men don't_ cry - and crumples a sheet of paper into a ball, throwing it into the trash harder than he needs to.

Topher looks out of his office at the small, self-contained world he's been a part of creating, and thinks about the _things he's done_, and wonders if his father would be proud of the man he became.

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Review?


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